


what's cookin

by snotsword



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Oral Fixation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 13:57:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15632061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snotsword/pseuds/snotsword
Summary: Hank notices Connor's intent staring at his fingers during dinner.





	what's cookin

“Cooking” was a term Hank used incredibly loosely for quite some time. It could refer to heating up a frozen meal, adding a common spice to instant macaroni and cheese, or the rare instance of trying to follow a recipe he found online. 

The first time Connor saw his kitchen, he noted the take-out trash, absence of drying dishes, and lack of fresh produce. These observations were the initial trigger to his interest in learning how to cook, as Hank’s dismal nutritional habits were an obvious concern, both from a professional standpoint and a personal one that only grew more predominant as the days went by. 

Therefore, Connor had remotely downloaded a myriad of recipes and tutorials, as well as even printing a select few to acknowledge Hank’s odd old-fashioned sentiments, and stocked the kitchen to a point unseen in years. 

Friday hadn’t come fast enough, and Hank was eager to get home. 

Sumo trotted to the door as they entered. Connor immediately knelt beside him, gently rubbing his head. 

“You’re gonna get snow all over the place. Hand me your jacket,” Hank offered. 

“Thank you.”

Once their coats were placed on the rack, Hank stretched, his arms over his head. Connor’s inquisitive gaze studied his movement, the way his shirt nearly exposed his stomach, idly wishing it had. 

“Gonna take a shower. I’ll be back.” 

Connor nodded. “You’re taking showers at an increasing frequency, Hank.”

“Uh, yeah. See you after.” He no longer minded his analytical comments, instead finding them endearing even, especially when accompanied by his half-smile.

Hank entered the bathroom, at first considering avoiding the mirror as he removed his clothes. He decided against it, and glanced at the post-it notes circling his reflection. Some of the older ones remained, but there were many new ones. I am loved, written by Connor, as well as Use conditioner and shampoo. 

Warm water cascaded across his broad chest, dripping from his shaggy hair. Hank did use conditioner and shampoo this time, instead of the 2-in-1 that probably barely accomplished 1. 

Once he internally deemed himself clean, Hank got out, grabbing a towel and hastily drying his hair, before wrapping it around his midsection to the best of his ability. He exited, the trapped shower steam replaced by cool air conditioning as he trudged to the edge of the kitchen. 

Connor turned around at the sound of his footsteps, LED spinning yellow as his eyes quickly took in his messy wet hair and bare arms, lingering on his soft pecs. Hank’s lips curled in a slight smile. “What’s cooking?”

Turning back around to face the oven, Connor answered swiftly. “Roasted Fennel-and-Prosciutto Flatbread. I think you’ll enjoy it.” Finishing with the balsamic glaze, he faced Hank, meal in both hands, and set it on the table. Sliced into pieces and covered in toppings, it was one of the fancier dishes he’d prepared.

“Not that I’m opposed to the idea, but were you planning on eating in your towel?” Connor asked. 

“Nope. Don’t want prosciutto or whatever on me.” Hank turned to leave, giving Connor a shot of what the towel couldn’t conceal. 

He returned in an old hoodie and sweatpants, sitting down. “Thank you for dinner.” 

“You don’t need to thank me. I like doing things for you.” 

“You don’t need to do them. We both can do unnecessary things. No harm in it.” Hank nodded warmly as Connor sat beside him. 

Being an android, Connor didn’t have to eat, but they still made a point to have dinner together. It didn’t happen every night, as their schedules were never set in stone, but regardless of regularity it was always pleasant, a key part of Hank feeling like his home was a home again. 

The energy that night was slightly different, however. Connor’s attentive eyes were nearly staring holes into Hank’s hands as he ate. His fingers were thick, dripping with glaze as they went to his mouth. Despite having done so countless times, Connor analyzed them, their girth and comparison to his. 

Time must have sped up, as soon Hank’s plate was empty. He sat back, patting his stomach, before cocking his head at Connor. “So. Staring at my hands while I’m eating. Not totally new, but this time was more, uh, intense.” He was using the curious, interested tone that usually led to a new development in a case or elsewhere. 

LED spinning yellow, Connor leaned a bit closer. “As I’ve mentioned before, your fingers are considerably larger than average. Not longer, but...wider.” As he spoke, his eyes drifted from Hank’s hands to his beard, his mouth. 

Hank narrowed his eyes, giving him the look that meant he was thinking, trying to understand Connor. 

“Uh-huh. What about it?” 

“Would you be opposed to an analysis of your hands?” His yellow LED spun quicker.

Sighing, a deep rumble, Hank leaned forward, a few inches from his face. His hot, human breath ghosted over synthetic skin. “Just say you want to suck my fingers.” 

Yellow, a flash of red, and then a return to blue as Connor nodded, gently taking Hank’s wide wrist and guiding his right hand towards his mouth. 

Hank chuckled, enjoying his enthusiasm as always. “Woah, no warning, huh-” 

Connor took two stubby fingers, closing his eyes and coating them in artificial saliva. He gave it a moment before sweeping his tongue across, exploring and tasting. Leftover flavor from dinner, traces of sweat, soap. He hummed before moving his head forward to push them deeper. He opened his eyes, satisfied to see a returned lusty gaze.

Hank brushed his right thumb across Connor’s lower cheek before placing it on the side of his mouth for leverage. He smirked, not condescending, just pleased. He squeezed a third finger between his lips, letting Connor get used to the stretch. His eyes closed again with a quiet hum. 

Connor didn’t wait for Hank to take the initiative, and began to move, darting his tongue around and between, hollowing his cheek occasionally. The wet noises and spit dripping from his mouth were obscene, and Hank’s hardening dick twitched as Connor tried to gag himself. 

“Let me take care of you.” Hank ran a gentle hand through his hair, giving a quick tug. Connor loosened up, and he took the cue. 

He shoved his fingers as far as he could for a second, then removed them completely. Connor’s mouth hung open, his LED spinning yellow at the sudden emptiness, warm brown eyes blown wide. Hank kept his hand on his face, leaning down to plant a messy kiss, a respite before he plunged his fingers back in. Connor immediately resumed sucking eagerly. 

Hank nearly took them all the way out once more, feeling more than hearing Connor’s desperate hum, and thrust in, beginning to fuck his mouth. Seeing Connor’s neat hair untidy and his cheeks dusted blue was one of the best feelings in this stupid world. His dick strained in his pants, and he used his freehand to unzip, lazily pumping himself. 

Connor noticed, and with a sickening, wet pop, released Hank’s fingers. He didn’t bother to wipe his mouth. 

Making direct eye contact, Connor pushed the chair back and keenly fell to his knees. He zeroed in on Hank’s beer-can dick, which he knew to be statistically thick, and stroked him a few times before taking his entire length at once. He felt the stretch, and despite the unnecessary nature of the desire, wished he could actually choke on it. 

Connor bobbed his head rhythmically, humming. Salt, precum, skin. The taste was interesting every time, regardless of how many times he experienced it. He pinched Hank’s doughy thigh affectionately, delighting in how strong yet soft he was. 

Hank tugged and pet his hair, grunting praise. “You’re getting better at this.” 

The compliment energized him, and Connor moved faster, tongue sliding around his thick cock for optimal sensation. He anticipated Hank’s tension, and was ready when Hank cupped his neck, pulling him closer as he came in his mouth. Connor swallowed it all as Hank recovered. 

“Thank you for indulging me, Hank.” His voice was so genuine, bright.

Hank considered teasing him, bringing up their earlier conversation about thanking each other, but decided against it, opting to lean down and kiss him on the head. 

“Anytime.”

**Author's Note:**

> look man hank big 
> 
> im @hankstitties on twitter


End file.
